


Wolf Like Me

by PrecariousSauce



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Gratuitous Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrecariousSauce/pseuds/PrecariousSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wolf in the Sand

It wasn’t the presence of a wolf in the Syrian Desert that told Big Boss something was amiss. It wasn’t the wolf’s size– nearly three feet tall at the shoulder and five feet long, far too large for what he assumed was perhaps a female just leaving puppyhood. It wasn’t even the wolf’s coloration, a dark yellow with almost a greenish tint in the moonlight.

What told the old soldier he was facing something different was the wolf’s eyes.

They were an intense blue, not the pale blue seen in normal dogs and wolves. The alien features of her canine face were a veil over her emotions (though most people would think the flattened ears, raised hackles and growling clear enough indicators), but her eyes alone lifted the veil. In them Big Boss could see human fear, confusion, and reactionary anger born of the two.

It was possible he was wrong, that he was imprinting human feelings onto her. But there was one way to check.

Big Boss sheathed his combat knife and held his open palm out to the wolf; “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her reaction was instantaneous. The juvenile’s hackles lowered, her ears perked up, and she stopped growling; slowly she came over to sniff his palm, tail still between her legs. After only a sniff or two, she licked his palm.

Big Boss scratched the odd wolf’s head with furrowed eyebrows and a thoughtful frown; she couldn’t be some obscure breed of domesticated dog– despite her size and color, her features were pure wolf. She reacted too quickly to his words, too much to have simply been hearing his tone. The only explanation he could think of was that she had understood the words themselves, and what they truly meant.

The wolf hovered beside him even when he stopped scratching her, and after he’d fed her one of the desert lizards he’d caught for himself she sat beside him, studying him with those bright blue eyes of hers. He let her stay, and when she lay down to sleep even let her rest her head in his lap.

Bones snapped and shrunk, fur retracted, and Big Boss got the answer to his question when it was no longer a wolf sleeping there, but a naked, scrawny thirteen-year-old girl.

* * *

Her name was Ferişteh, and Big Boss learned three important things while traveling with her out of the desert:

1) She was a Kurd who had grown up during the Iran-Iraq War; she’d lost everyone important to her during the gassing of Halabja– everyone who also shared her power.

2) She had been taught English and trained with a sniper rifle by a fireteam of Gorkhas– a remnant of the British soldiers that had been stationed in Halabja for decades, Big Boss reasoned– and was a damn good shot for such a young girl. The Gorkhas had abandoned her for reasons Ferişteh didn’t know but Big Boss could probably guess.

3) Nobody had taught her how to control her power. Her transformations were essentially random, and she was _always_ wild and frightened immediately after.

She couldn’t very well put her skills as a sniper to use if she was turning into a wolf whenever it pleased her (and more likely when it didn’t please her), but Big Boss didn’t have the knowledge or the time to help her understand that part of herself. So instead he used technology, tracking down the people who had made that boy’s gas mask and asking them what they knew about wolves. 

Two months after he brought her to America, Big Boss placed a collar in Ferişteh’s now clean but still bony hands.

She stared at the collar with her intense eyes, which in this face looked more animal than human; “A choker?” Her grammar was nearly flawless, but her English was coated in a thick accent. He suspected it always would be– Sorani Kurdish wasn’t a widespread language. That accent would perhaps be the only connection to home she’d have.

“It makes it so you won’t transform unless you want to,” he explained. “Though they did tell me it can’t stop you from turning at midnight on a full moon– Nothing can stop you from turning then."

Ferişteh’s mouth twisted into a scowl and her hands shook; “You’re collaring me. Are you going to chain me to a post next? Muzzle me?”

Big Boss moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from him, and he sighed; “It’s not ideal, but I can only teach you how to be a soldier, Ferişteh. Someday you’ll find someone who _can_ teach you what you need to know about this– maybe you’ll learn all of that on your own. But for now, this will have to do. Can you accept that, Ferişteh?”

The girl curled in on herself, hiding her eyes with her hair; she nodded all the same, and when he moved to touch her shoulder this time, she let him.

* * *

Ferişteh was a fast learner, and got even faster once she put on the collar. Big Boss had a brief month more to spend on teaching her, but by that month’s end she was well on her way to mastering every technique he knew with a sniper rifle.

 He made no secret to her that it would be a long time before they saw each other again. Perhaps that was why she did so well– so he could leave her proud, and maybe want to come back sooner. But he knew she stayed behind the scope for herself, too. She had spent too long in the very heart of war, its scars ran too deep for her to ever leave it behind. But if she could watch from the outside, close enough to see it without being hurt and not so far that she forgot, perhaps she could make her own peace with everything.

Big Boss knew for a fact she was trying not to rebel against the collar in his presence so they wouldn’t part with bad blood between them. But every other night he would find the collar lying on the floor of FOXHOUND’s base, and hear barking from the surrounding forest. He never brought it up to Ferişteh. But he left the collar in her room for her every night.

But even then, she followed his footsteps as she had in the desert. She listened to his every word in enraptured silence. She called him Saladin. Despite how she disliked the collar, he was the first person who had really tried to help her with her transformations. Uncontrolled as they were, they frightened her the most. And though he was leaving, he wasn’t abandoning her– it was a simple parting of the ways. And destiny being the malleable thing it is, perhaps he’d even return to her one day. 

She was a strange creature, but she was a fairly typical child of war– it was only natural she’d adore the most recent person to treat her with kindness. He hoped she would grow enough to distinguish true kindness from momentary kindness. He trusted her enough to do that much alone.

When he left again, it was an hour to midnight on a full moon. Ferişteh had smiled, wished him well, and hoped they’d meet again. Her animal eyes hid the truth of her feelings to him, but her tight smile, too-stiff shoulders and trembling handshake betrayed her. 

When he drove away from the base, the moon was in the center of the sky. A long, lonely howl echoed through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Ferişteh isn't a proper Kurdish name per se (as far as I could find, anyway), but it does mean "Angel", so I suppose it could be used as one. That name far predates this fic idea, which is why it has nothing to do with wolves or at the very least foxes (more on that next chapter).
> 
> 2) I have no idea where it was said in any resource that Wolf was trained by Ghorka soldiers, but according to the MGS wiki she was and I cherry-pick the continuity of Metal Gear and it's supplementary materials for the most interesting things and keep those. My research told me British soldiers were stationed in Halabja as late as World War I, but I couldn't find anything telling me if any were still around by 1988, so I'm gonna fake that in MGS-land at least a few Ghorka were.
> 
> 3) Though I have no love for MGSV, I'm pretending the kid we saw in the trailer truly was a young Psycho Mantis, so I'm also pretending Big Boss knows what the gas mask does for him and that it is indeed a property of the mask and not just a psychological thing.


	2. Lone Wolf

Ferişteh left on her sabbatical for many reasons, but two stood out to her as most important.

First– Without Saladin here, she didn’t feel safe. Nearly every other soldier in FOXHOUND’s garrison knew what she was (during the time without her collar she really didn’t have a way to hide it), and regarded her with wary eyes and a hand hovering near their weapon. They were waiting– for when the collar came off or when the full moon came to the center of its arc. 

There were those who didn’t fear her– most notably Saladin’s quiet second, Gray Fox, and his sister Naomi who despite her being as young as Ferişteh had a keen eye and a thirst for knowledge. Ferişteh wanted to stay with them, learn by Gray Fox’s side as she had by Saladin. But in every story she’d been told about foxes, no matter how smart they were they always met their end. Ferişteh wanted to believe in these men Saladin had chosen. She wanted to believe they would accept her.

Then with her keen ears she’d heard Colonel Campbell making a requisition for silver-jacketed bullets.

Her second reason was a fire in her belly that grew hotter every second she wore this collar. This wild part of her had its voice muffled, and spoke as the Arabs in her homeland– in a language she’d heard enough to recognize, enough to pray in beside her father, yet still couldn’t truly understand. When she transformed against her will, it let out a screech that tore through her and left her ears ringing.

That reason was what lead her first to the North of Europe. That was the land her mother’s mother had come from. Her mother could turn with ease and kept her mind each time. Her mother’s mother could do the same. In these lands, perhaps she could find others like herself and become closer to them.

Any who smelled the same as she did, who had her same animal eyes, avoided her like all the rest. The most they ever did was tell her to leave– that it was hard enough living with this without some dumb pup asking them questions about it in broad daylight. At night she turned and raced through the forests, visualizing the paw prints of her grandmother and following them South. 

* * *

Ferişteh went anywhere that needed a spare gun. She preferred putting food on the table with her rifle instead of her jaws. 

Her power gave her a few advantages over her fellows; it took her longer to get hungry, tired, fidgety, so she could wait as long as she needed for her perfect shot. She had a stronger eye, ear and nose than the humans vying for her position. The scope was all but a formality. She even overcame her handicap of the full moon– diazepam suppressed her transformations altogether.

She needed it, but when the full moon called and she didn’t answer the wild part of her screeched in her ears, rendering her close to deaf until dawn. She felt more guilt for that than any target she’d killed. She hated it. But she needed it.

Ferişteh distracted herself with the people she held under the guillotine. Due to her skill, when she faced war she was given nothing less than commanders. Her targets were on all different sides of the wars they fought (though it was all the same to Ferişteh– from her distance, all battlefields looked the same), but they had in common charisma and inner strength. And a lot of them were rather dashing. She was a teenager– it was no small wonder she became a little infatuated with them all. 

She put them down all the same.

* * *

When she was seventeen, a job from a crime syndicate took her to New York. She only knew that her target was stupid and low-ranking; that was guaranteed for any job that took less than twenty-four hours to execute. After dyeing a section of sidewalk red with his blood, Ferişteh wandered the streets. 

Her sabbatical had taken her many places and to many cities of comparable size, but this place felt different. It felt alive, humming with an energy that calmed her and excited her at once. For a second, she entertained the idea of turning and bounding down the street, drinking in all this life.

But she abandoned it as quick as it came– For one, it was stupid. A wolf in New York would get herself shot or run over by a car. More importantly was what it was to ‘willingly’ turn with her collar. It felt worse than turning against her will or not turning on the full moon. It made her body burn and her mind twist. It felt like forcing herself to vomit. 

Ferişteh stopped in her tracks and turned to the building on her right. It was a Mosque. The teenage girl could only stare at it. She had been to a mosque twice in her life. First, when she was three years old, before the war. Second, in the middle of the war when she was eight, in the lull after they’d lost her mother. 

When was the last time she had done all five prayers? When was the last time she had remembered every word of the prayers she said? It was a friday, ten minutes before noon. She looked down at herself– she wasn’t wearing the most modest clothes (her power made her feel uncomfortable and fidgety if she didn’t leave enough of her skin open to the elements) and didn’t have anything to cover herself. 

And even then, was a wolf, a murderer, welcome in a holy place?

When the time for the Zuhr prayer came, she didn’t join the Jumu’ah. Ferişteh bowed her head, as she didn’t remember how to pray properly. She prayed in a soft whisper– in Sorani Kurdish, because to this day she never truly knew what the Arabic prayers she offered meant. 

_Allah, please guide me, because I’m afraid that I’m lost. I’m no closer to knowing the beastly side of me than I was when I left. I don’t want to know this pain anymore. I want to speak with this side of me, know what it says. I don’t want to fear my own fangs. Show me where my rifle should point, where I should guide it. I grow tired of murdering just so I may survive. I must be meant for something more, yet I don’t know what._

Ferişteh opened her eyes and looked back up at the mosque; “Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah.”

* * *

Allah and her own feet guided her home to FOXHOUND, where Saladin waited for her. She was made a true member, and she laughed at her assigned codename– either Saladin had rigged it, or the system itself had a sense of irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The fox is a figure that appears a lot in Kurdish folklore– they often triumph over less intelligent species through cunning, but also end up meeting their end.
> 
> 2) While blondness and blue-eyedness isn't unheard of among Kurds, considering HOW blond and blue-eyed Wolf is, I decided to make her a quarter-Scandinavian on her mother's side. It also was a convenient enough explanation as to why lycanthropy had made its way so far from where actual wolves live.
> 
> 3) Kurds are predominantly Muslim, especially in the area Wolf is from, so I decided it would be an interesting thing in my headcanon of her for her to be Muslim (if not slightly lapsed and a bit more casually than one usually expects).


	3. Wolf Pack

When Big Boss brought a teenage girl through FOXHOUND’s doors, Psycho Mantis’ first thought was that they must be getting desperate. The girl may have been well-groomed, but she looked like a feral child or a child of war whose wounds on her soul had healed poorly, turning into ugly misshapen scars– her eyes spoke to a mind probably more animal than human. 

And then, as he reached out to get a vague feeling for his new “comrade’s” mind, he learned something very important.

He couldn’t read it.

He tried probing deeper, as deep as he knew how, staring at her from a safe distance until his eyes were as dry as deserts; nothing took. He was locked out. 

His first thought then– Perhaps FOXHOUND wasn’t as desperate as he thought. His second thought– What the fuck. 

Mantis would never say he feared her. Because he didn’t. He simply had a practical suspicion of her from that day forward. A mind he couldn’t read equaled a person whose next move he didn’t know. A person who, should they decide to turn against him, he wouldn’t see coming. Not that he was particularly afraid of her should she chose to do that– sure, she was a sharpshooter, but even if he couldn’t read her mind it wasn’t so much work to keep up a constant forcefield. Not that he was afraid of her shooting him down. Because he wasn’t.

Mantis watched her closely, gathering evidence– if he couldn’t learn what she was about the easy way, he’d do it the hard way. Sniper Wolf, on the surface, seemed unperturbed when she heard of his powers. In fact, when Big Boss told her, she almost looked pleased. On the field, he rarely saw her, which he supposed was proof enough she was good at her job. Off it, she was quiet, but polite. She never sought him out, but unlike many others when he entered a room she didn’t immediately leave.

Sometimes she made conversation. He would either shoot her down with a sarcastic remark or stare at her silently– both of which had proved effective in the past. Wolf was only deterred by the former. She accepted the latter with a soft smile; silence suited her as well as conversation. Mantis would have liked that about her, if he was sure it was genuine. 

She had keen senses, as befit a sniper, but they were too keen. Half of the time when he was observing him, she’d catch him out of the corner of her eye, or hear him step just a little too heavily. Once she even figured out where he was when he was invisible; he wasn’t sure how, perhaps she heard his breath or even _smelled_ him somehow. Either way, she always found him when he tried to watch her in secret– and she never stopped him. She never even brought it up. 

With clues like this– mind unreadable, can tell where he is even when he’s too far away for a normal person to find him– Mantis would have assumed she was a fellow psychic. But he had crossed swords with other psychics, some as strong as him; he could tell if she was shielding her mind, or feel it when she used her own powers to touch his mind and find him. Her mind wasn’t blocked. He simply could not read it.

He’d planned to finally confront her, but the day he chose to do it, they were told Big Boss had been in Outer Heaven. That he’d been a traitor who’d fallen to one of their rawest recruits. 

Wolf disappeared for three days. Though she physically returned then, she was still gone for at least a week. Not even her alien eyes could hide how the loss of Big Boss had shaken her, had changed her. When she started speaking again, she was… colder. She wasn’t as quick to smile, and rarely spoke unless spoken to. It was as hard to find her off the field as it was on it.

Psycho Mantis wouldn’t be deterred from the truth, Wolf’s depression be damned. He finally tracked her down to a storeroom in the garrison; she was in the middle of cleaning her gun, and if she were anyone else he’d have thought she didn’t even notice him come in she was so absorbed. When he stopped in front of her, Wolf flicked her eyes up to him in only the briefest gesture of acknowledgement.

“Tell me what it is,” he rasped, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared down at her. 

Wolf furrowed her eyebrows, the most real emotion Mantis had seen from her in a while; “Excuse me?”

“I can’t read your mind,” Mantis hissed. “So what is it? Nanomachines? Psychic insulation? What is it?”

Wolf blinked once, before looking away and musing, “So _that’s_ why you follow me around.”

Mantis scowled beneath his mask; “Don’t play dumb. Give me answers, Wolf.”

Wolf furrowed her eyebrows and bit the inside of her lower lip, staying silent for a moment, then looked to him with the barest light in her odd eyes; “I know you don’t trust me, but if you want to know a possibility, I’d ask you to follow me out to the forest. If I showed you here things could get… messy.”

Mantis ignored his better judgement and overwhelming… _suspicion_. He followed Sniper Wolf deep into the woods.

Psycho Mantis had ignored one very important truth: He can only read _human_ minds. He had not suspected for even a moment that Sniper Wolf wasn’t human.

As he stared down a golden wolf the size of a horse with the eyes of a human, his first thought was that he had been a damned idiot for not considering this.

* * *

Ocelot had known about Wolf’s condition long before he had come to FOXHOUND. John had gone through him when looking for the people to make her collar, and honestly Ocelot wasn’t surprised. His father could talk to ghosts, that boy he’d found five years before could read minds, anything was possible. 

When he did join FOXHOUND in ’96, Wolf looked exactly like he imagined. Her clean, civilized appearance framed a pair of wild eyes. For once in his life, Ocelot was upfront with someone– when Campbell left Ocelot and Wolf alone, he told her he didn’t give a damn if she turned into a wolf. As long as she did her job and didn’t shoot him or bite him they’d work together just fine. Through a veil of melancholy, she gave him the ghost of an appreciative smile and told him that went both ways.

She had all the nobility and grace of a wolf, and like a wolf she was a much better killer alone than with a pack assisting her. Ocelot heard whispers around the garrison that she was unreadable because of her eyes, but Ocelot knew better than anyone that eyes weren’t the only window to the soul. She wasn’t special to him– he could read her and perhaps manipulate her as well as anyone else.

Ocelot had seen her transform only once– a mission that wasn’t supposed to go until midnight got massively more complicated, and in the process of retreating, the full moon rose to its zenith. The enemy had been well-armed, but nothing could have prepared the men for a woman turning into a massive wolf. In their panic, she mowed them all down, fur, blood and bullets flying in all directions. 

Her transformation and the battle left her hungry. Therefore, there weren’t any bodies they needed to dispose of.

But the true problem wasn’t the beast in her but the woman. Big Boss’ death had made her ruthless, reckless, and cold. She ignored their strategies, taking her shots whenever they were best no matter the consequences, and never maintaining radio contact. Ocelot considered telling her what he knew, of how Zanzibarland was plan B, but he knew that would just send her running off to join her precious Saladin. Her place was here.

Ocelot wasn’t interested in fixing Wolf’s problems, that was for her to deal with. But he disliked not having a backup plan. Next chance he got, he swiped some of the silver-jacketed rounds Campbell had specially requisitioned.

Just in case.

* * *

Vulcan Raven felt her before he even set foot inside the garrison. The air was humming with a presence not unlike his own, a soul whose blood sang of animal and man at once. A woman with the eyes and heart of a wolf was here. When they met in person, he could tell Sniper Wolf recognized his kinship to her, even if she didn’t have quite the words to describe it. He ignored his other briefings in favor of learning the wolfkin’s story and sharing his own. He could see light in her eyes when he told her that he fought in Outer Heaven under Big Boss.

Wolf didn’t have a dialogue with the wild part of her heart, but Raven could see she still knew what parts of it were entwined with the human part of her soul. Despite the sadness that weighed her down, she stood as nobly and proudly as her wild cousins. But that sadness could not be ignored.

Their second mission together, with an injured Ocelot and an angry Mantis behind him, Raven walked over to Wolf as she abandoned her perch; her face was as blank as she could make it.

Raven frowned down at her; “Wolf. Care to tell us what that was about?”

“I saw the shot. I took it,” she muttered, walking quickly towards their extraction point.

“And alerted the whole damn compound,” Ocelot spat, “They dropped their whole force on me and Mantis! What is _wrong_ with you?!”

Wolf glared over her shoulder; “I’m _fine_. I’m doing my job.”

Raven spoke up, his even voice silencing Ocelot’s next protest; “Your job is not just to shoot the target, but do it at the proper moment so that we all can succeed. Do not ignore your pack, Sniper Wolf– it hurts you more than it hurts us.”

Wolf spun on her heel, baring her teeth as she slitted her eyes in a glare; “I may turn into one, but I’m not a wolf, _Raven_. I’m a soldier. I don’t have a _pack_.”

Raven shook his head; “A wolf has a pack, and a soldier has comrades. Your duty is the same, and your pain will be the same if you neglect it.”

She said nothing; in her eyes, he saw she knew he was right. But her pain was still too raw, too intense for her to admit it. She stormed off that night and would say nothing to him for a day afterwards. From that day onwards, though, she was just a bit more cooperative and that much softer.

She told him once about how she still couldn’t turn on her own, about the pain of her still confused and divided spirit every time she turned on instinct. Raven suggested she take some time, go to Alaska to meet with someone he knew who shared her gift. She could learn to speak the language of her wild heart, and wouldn’t need to remain collared like a dog. Wolf gingerly touched the collar, frowned, and softly declined. 

Wolf said in not so many words that though she had hated the collar once, now it was all she had of the one most dear to her. She’d like to hold onto it, for just a little longer. Raven had simply nodded and stayed silent; her path would not end for some time. She had time enough to learn and heal at her own pace.

* * *

Decoy Octopus didn’t suspect anything was weird about Sniper Wolf for a long time. All he saw when he looked at her was a sort of cold, a little sad, but generally nice woman who he didn’t want looking at him through a scope. He spent four months under the same roof as her before he noticed anything.

And when he _did_ notice something, it didn’t leave a lot of room for doubt.

On the full moon, he was up and about at midnight. He had just come back to the garrison from a solo assignment, and though it had been a fairly simple information retrieval mission, there had been a few moments that had probably turned some of his actual hair gray. He’d been in the middle of a good yawn when he heard something between a bark and a roar by the window. 

Octopus blinked once; he didn’t know much about wildlife, but that didn’t sound normal. 

He approached the window and peered out into the darkness. He was one floor up from the ground, and from here the moonlight cast everything on the ground in an eery bluish-green glow. For a moment, everything looked to be in order. Then the moment passed. A wolf the size of a station wagon came out of the woods, a whole deer hanging from its jaws. It was a greenish gold… the same color as Sniper Wolf’s hair, or at least close enough. As the wolf chowed down on the deer, Octopus noticed there was a collar around its neck. A black collar.

Huh.

The next morning, Octopus broached the topic to his teammates in the most tactful way he could think of; “So, uh… Is Sniper Wolf a werewolf?”

Three sets of eyes turned to Wolf, who put a hand to her chin and asked, “Can I hear what made you ask that?”

Octopus told them of his wolf-sighting, and after a moment of silence, Wolf answered, “Yes, that was me. I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh. Cool. So… do you turn just on the full moon?”

“It's the only time I _have_ to turn.”

“Cool.”

Octopus couldn’t stifle a chuckle; for a shapeshifter, it seemed he wasn’t so good at seeing the disguises of others.


	4. She-Wolf

Liquid Snake came to FOXHOUND last.

He found it barely holding together. Campbell wasn’t a strong leader, especially considering how he never took to the field, so these wildly different and incredibly warped individuals were finding it difficult to find a reason to not kill each other. Worst seemed to be Psycho Mantis and Revolver Ocelot, who both seemed ready to level the garrison if it meant the other would be crushed under the rubble. Poor Vulcan Raven was trying to be the team’s anchor and voice of reason, but only Sniper Wolf seemed to listen to him and even then only sometimes. The whole base seemed to be entrenched in a cold war, just waiting for an excuse to tear itself down.

Campbell had no interest in fixing the sorry state FOXHOUND was in– as far as Liquid could see, he preferred to follow than to lead, and he thought the members of FOXHOUND little more than a freak show. As long as he was kept out of the line of fire he’d be all too glad to see them tear each other apart. Though Raven was trying, he wasn’t truly built to be a leader and seemed close to a psychotic break. And, as previously stated, at least three of the other four were itching to kill each other. So it fell to him. Liquid wasn’t exactly sure what to do, he’d never really been in a leadership position before (technically he wasn’t even in one now), but at the same time Liquid had come up with decent results from far less.

Liquid started small, with Octopus. The master of disguise claimed he was away so often because his vastly different skill set lead him to taking vastly different assignments– assignments that didn’t really need five other soldiers tagging along. It didn’t take much digging for Liquid to learn that was only half-true. Octopus took many solo assignments, but on most of them he had haggled with Campbell to make sure they were indeed solo. He was putting himself and FOXHOUND at risk just so he wouldn’t have to depend on his comrades for anything.

Octopus wasn’t a social sort by nature, but Liquid was a persistent sort himself. He made it clear to Octopus that not only was he not hostile, but he had some skills that could be useful by Octopus’ side. Nobody ever believed him when he said he was trained for stealth and espionage, and at first Octopus was the most skeptical. He changed his tune when, on a mission he’d insisted on taking as well, all Liquid needed to blend in was a shirt. Once he had proved himself to Octopus, his trust came easier than expected.

Second came Ocelot. Despite (or perhaps because of) the history Ocelot had with his father, the man was distant. And in hindsight Liquid could clearly see that distance was never really closed. Ocelot just _didn’t_ get close to people, not really. Not even to Big Boss. And he especially would never get close to Liquid, the warped mirror of the man who meant everything to him. But Ocelot did respect two things: Competence and conviction. Liquid never faltered when Ocelot was stationed by his side, and didn’t back down when Ocelot tried to goad him into a fight over tactics. That got incredibly hard when Ocelot revealed he knew Liquid’s sorest spots.

So, at the same time, Liquid worked with Mantis. And despite all the myriad plans he dreamed up, winning the psychic’s loyalty was simpler than he thought. So simple, he didn’t even know he was doing it (which perhaps may have been the only way to convince a psychic). Liquid just treated Mantis normally. He didn’t ask questions outside of what he needed to know in the field, especially not about the mask. Liquid was awed by his powers the first time he saw them, but once he adapted, they were just like any other weapon. It probably spoke more of him than of Mantis that he didn’t see much odd about the man.

Earning Mantis’ respect and trust came part and parcel with gaining at the very least the cooperation of Ocelot, and defusing the biggest bomb under the garrison’s roof. Having footholds with them both gave Liquid somewhere to leap in when they set at arguing, and saw that his attempts at mediation didn’t just make things worse. Though usually all he really had to say to get them to stop was that FOXHOUND had a job to do and their fight would get all of them killed. With time he was able to put out the fire, though the hot coals still remained, and he suspected always would. In doing so, he seemed to gain Raven’s trust as well– after all, if Liquid could get Mantis and Ocelot to at the very least be civil, imagine what else he could do.

And then there was Wolf.

She was… difficult. Not just to reach, but to read. She spoke little, and her face betrayed even less. Most of the chatter around base said her eyes were odd, alien– almost like windows to a different soul than her own. Liquid didn’t see that; the most he could say about her eyes was that they were a pretty shade of blue. There was little opportunity for Liquid to simply talk to her– on the field, usually she was somewhere high up and far away. The same seemed to be true when they weren’t on the field. And even when she was forced to come in for mission briefings the minute she was told who she was supposed to shoot and when, her mouth went on lockdown. The most he could drag out of her were monosyllables.           

According to FOXHOUND, she’d been even _worse_ at some point. Liquid found that hard to believe.

But beyond that, there were odd things about her. Things the others made a point of not talking about. Things like her spotting far away enemy men without her scope. She would know their numbers, what weapons they were carrying, how many were male and how many were female. All this, and half the time she wasn’t even physically looking at them. Things like the way dogs behaved around her; certainly they liked her, but it was more than that. Trained guard dogs would abandon their posts and follow her, and she would sit with them– sometimes petting them or rubbing their stomachs, but often just… sitting there amongst them like she belonged. Things like how she would tug slightly at the choker around her neck– the only sign Liquid ever got when she was less than pleased.

And then there were her disappearances. Not her fleeing to the remote corners of the base or the nearest treetop after each mission– these were different. One day, she’d spend the daylight hours fidgeting, nervous, alert. And when night fell, she would well and truly disappear. If the others knew where she went, they were refusing to tell him. She would be back the next morning, no different from any other day. This happened once a month. _Every_ month, like clockwork.

Perhaps it was him seeing connections when they weren’t there. But something in Liquid knew that if he could get to the bottom of these disappearances, he could finally reach Wolf.

* * *

Liquid used everything he knew about stealth when shadowing Wolf that day. Now more than ever, Liquid had to be wary of her uncanny senses. If she caught him too soon, he’d never be able to follow her when the sun set. Wolf didn’t seem to catch wind of his efforts throughout the day, but Mantis did– well, _of course_ Mantis did. Liquid was an open book to him. To Liquid’s surprise, the psychic gave him a small warning against his course. Told him that what he thought might be a rabbit hole could hold a fox. 

Liquid simply smirked; “Mantis, I’m English. Flushing out foxes is what we _do_.”

Despite how careful he was, Liquid almost missed it when Wolf left the garrison. He’d glanced away for a second, and when he looked back he just barely caught a flash of golden hair disappearing out the door into the dark of the night. With a stifled swear Liquid raced to catch up, but she was gone when he got outside. The full moon at least gave him good light to track her by. 

Wolf’s boots had left clear prints in the dirt, heading towards the forest. But halfway between the base and the trees Wolf’s boot-prints became prints of bare feet. Liquid furrowed his eyebrows– already this was getting weird. He followed the prints to the forest’s edge and took a cursory glance up at the trees. Yet another odd thing caught his eye. Tied to a low– but not _too_ low– branch was a gray bundle. He squinted up at it, trying to make out recognizable shapes. He thought he could make out the toe of a boot.

Before Liquid could investigate further, a growl deep enough for him to feel the rumbling in the soles of his feet echoed from the forest. From somewhere nearby. Liquid tensed up– he didn’t take any chances, instead slowly backing up away from the tree line. The growling only grew louder as he backed up further. The moonlight glinted off a pair of striking blue eyes.

A roar tore out of the forest, and a flurry of gold leapt from the trees. Liquid leapt backwards, rolling just out of the way of two massive paws primed to smash into his shoulders. They landed heavily on the dirt as Liquid stopped on his knees, and the two blue eyes swung around to lock on to him. As the gigantic creature turned to fully face him, Liquid couldn’t keep his jaw from falling open. 

It was a wolf, standing perhaps six feet tall at the shoulder and eight feet long. Its mouth was probably big enough to tear his head off in one bite. The wolf had thick gold fur, sharp blue eyes, and a black collar around its neck. Liquid silently took stock of all the strange things about Sniper Wolf as the beast bared its fangs at him. All of those strange things _would_ make a lot more sense if she were a werewolf.

Liquid grimaced as he slowly stood; Mantis was right. He’d gone in expecting to flush out a fox and had found a wolf the size of a horse instead.

Sniper Wolf let out a bark that rattled Liquid’s eardrums and closed the distance between them, glaring directly into his eyes while her fur bristled. Liquid backed away, but Wolf matched him step for step; he had to wonder just how intelligent she was like this. And in the event that she wasn’t just a snarling beast, he had to wonder what it was she wanted from him. 

Liquid gulped down his primal fear and stared Wolf down; “Easy, Wolf. I don’t think it’d be wise for you to bite your comrade’s head off.”

Wolf shut her mouth, but kept growling as she leaned in to sniff Liquid’s face. He stayed quiet and tried to at least look calm. After a moment of sniffing him, Wolf’s hackles went down and she pushed her nose into Liquid’s cheek with a much friendlier-sounding ‘whuff’. Liquid could only blink. Slowly, experimentally, Liquid reached out and placed a hand on Wolf’s head. She didn’t even flinch. He scratched behind her ear. Her tail started wagging.

Wolf let Liquid scratch her for a moment or two more before she turned away from him and started back towards the forest. She stopped at the tree line and looked over her shoulder at Liquid, tail wagging expectantly. Liquid blinked again, uncomprehending– did she want him to follow her? … Well, if she did, who was he to deny a big bad wolf like her?

Wolf stalked into the trees and Liquid followed.

* * *

That morning, two-thirds of FOXHOUND filed into the briefing room on what they thought was Campbell’s request. They had expected to see Campbell, maybe Liquid, Wolf if it was a blue moon.

What they found in the briefing room was Liquid standing at the head of the conference table with his trench coat missing, several small leaves and twigs in his hair, his arms crossed over his chest and on his face a frown that said they were all in some sort of trouble. Wolf was in the nearest chair to Liquid, her clothes in a bundle on her lap, Liquid’s coat covering her up to her chin, and the woman herself’s snoring putting chainsaws everywhere to shame. 

Liquid gestured to the chairs; “Gentlemen. Have a seat.”

Raven and Octopus sat down with equal amounts of caution and politeness. Ocelot and Mantis just plopped down into chairs, Ocelot putting his feet up on the table. Liquid closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he slowly paced across the head of the room.

After a moment, he spoke up; “So. I was told that Mantis is a psychic. I was told that Raven was a shaman. I was told about Octopus’… interesting methods of disguising himself. I was even told that Ocelot is an asshole.”

“Hey!”

“Not now, Ocelot,” Liquid snapped as he turned to face the group and placed his hands on the table. “I was told _all_ that…” 

He stared them down for a moment longer before gesturing over at Wolf with his whole arm; “ _Why_ did _nobody_ tell me she was a bloody _werewolf?!_ ”

Ocelot shrugged; “Didn’t seem important.”

Liquid narrowed his eyes and snapped, “Bullshit.”

Octopus shrugged next; “Honor among shapeshifters– don’t give away disguises.”

“Also bullshit.”

Mantis shrugged third; “You didn’t ask.”

“… Technically true but still bullshit.”

“She asked us not to tell you,” Raven stated. Liquid opened his mouth to say another variation on “bullshit”, but stopped, instead just blinking in surprise. 

Raven continued after a beat, “Many of the other FOXHOUND operatives lower down in our ranks fear her. Campbell specifically has silver bullets on reserve because he fears her. It’s really not surprising Wolf would only want to reveal this information when she was sure she wouldn’t be killed or worse for it.”

Liquid frowned, mulling that over, before turning to the other three men and remarking, “Now I’m mostly just surprised you three actually respected that.”

Ocelot retrieved his gun from the holster and lazily twirled it around as he drawled, “Women tend to get angrier than most when you reveal personal information about them. Werewolf snipers aren’t an exception, and I’m keen on not getting eaten.”

Mantis frowned behind his mask; “I can’t read Wolf’s mind. I try to avoid crossing people whose next move I can’t predict.”

Octopus gave another hapless shrug; “I like Wolf. It’d be dickish to break her trust like that.” Liquid gave Mantis and Ocelot a pointed look. They just continued lounging, shameless as ever.

Liquid stood up straight and rubbed his temple; “Well, you all took the wind out of my sails. I was primed to rant at you, but I suppose all I can do now is let you go. Also, one of you remind me to have a long and unpleasant talk with Campbell about those silver bullets.”

Everyone scattered, though Liquid did get Raven to carry Wolf back to her quarters. He returned to his own to pick the debris out of his hair and mull everything over. The first thought he had was that he was dead tired. Wolf had moved through the forest until sunrise, and the adrenaline rush of being beside a giant wolf had kept Liquid awake alongside her. The second thought he had was that he ought to actually _speak_ to her about this. There were questions he still had that only she could answer.

There was a soft rap on the doorframe. Liquid looked over his shoulder; Wolf stood in the doorway, properly wearing his trench coat now with the bundle of her own clothes slung over her shoulder. She looked about as unreadable as always. But he could see a light in her eyes now, a window into the unguarded and wild half of her.

Liquid smirked; “Please don’t tell me you’re here to return my coat _before_ putting your own clothes back on. Mantis would have a minor aneurysm if you walked back to your own quarters naked.”

Wolf smiled– small, soft, but real; “No. I just…” She sighed, looking away. “I’m not sure why I’m here, exactly. I just thought we should actually _speak_ about this.”

“I was thinking much the same thing,” Liquid mused, turning to face her completely. “To that end, let me share a theory.”

Wolf arched a golden brow; “A theory?”

Liquid nodded; “I shadowed you all day, and you didn’t notice me. Initially, I thought I’d just gotten the better of you. But now that I know some important details, I have another idea.” Wolf didn’t say anything, just stared at him with a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. 

He paused, then stated, “A wolf’s sense of smell is far too keen for you to miss me at the distance I was following you. You have to know my scent by now. So, I propose that you noticed me following you very early on. You let me follow you. You wanted me to learn about you in the rawest way I could.”

Wolf looked at him for a long time, before smiling softly once again; “That’s certainly plausible.”

Liquid smiled back at her; “Well then, in the event that _was_ what you did, why do you suppose you’d do that?”

The Kurd’s fingers drifted up to her collar as she softly mused, “In that event, I suppose it could be that I wanted to trust you. That I had seen how you got close to the others and were genuinely trying to fix the broken mess FOXHOUND had become. That I had just been swayed by your charisma, and wanted so badly to trust you. But I couldn’t. Not… not entirely. So perhaps I wanted to test you.”

“You _can_ trust me, Wolf,” Liquid murmured.

She looked him in the eye with the widest smile he’d ever seen on her face; “I know that now.”

* * *

Liquid and Wolf would walk together under the moon for many nights after that. When she was on two legs, she told Liquid of her journey from the desert to these woods while resting her head on his back. When she was on four legs, he would rest against her stomach and tell her of his own time in the desert. Each for their own reasons, they avoided talking about Big Boss. Slowly even this changed.

With Liquid by her side, pieces of who she had been came back. Smiling became easier. She would start conversations, sustain them, even make the odd joke or playfully flirtatious remark. She could actually pay attention to the full plan again, and speak over the radio to her comrades. She started to _really_ see them asher comrades again. She wasn’t fixed. No one man could do that in so short a time.

But Liquid did make getting out of bed and putting her best foot forward not just easier but possible. And that was a small miracle to her.

As they drew closer, the collar around Wolf’s neck began to feel tighter and tighter. As Liquid planned revolution, Wolf would absently feel at the buckle, think of the far-away person Raven had told her of, and wonder if perhaps it was time to truly be rid of this chain to the past.


	5. Wolf in the Snow

Meryl Silverburgh did not like Sniper Wolf.

At first, she thought nothing of it. She had a gut reaction of fear and revulsion when she looked at any of the other senior FOXHOUND members– her dislike of Wolf didn’t seem unusual against that. But she was able to push that down around the others after a little time. 

Not so with Wolf.

Every time Wolf was even in the same room, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and something deep in Meryl started screeching, setting off Fight or Flight alarm bells. Something about this woman, perfectly innocuous and seemingly harmless without a rifle in hand, woke some primal survival instinct in the young soldier’s blood. Meryl blamed it on her eyes. She didn’t like those blue eyes of hers– too clear, too sharp, always moving and wholly alien.

None of the other soldiers felt it. The few other women in their ranks thought her slightly intimidating, but only because of her rank and skill set. The majority of the men were all too focused on the stripe of flesh from the sniper’s neck to her navel to care about her eyes.

She made a note to keep a close eye out for her. Because Meryl knew one thing for certain: Sniper Wolf was deadliest when you couldn’t see her.

* * *

Hal had never seen anything like her before.

She moved with unnatural grace, carried herself with all the poise and dignity of nobility, and showed the brutality and efficiency of an executioner. She was all he could see through the splashes of crimson on his glasses. He was slightly glad that his tongue felt like lead in his mouth– he’d probably say something embarrassing if he could speak, like ask her if she was an angel. 

Definitely a stupid question– no angel, not even _the_ angel of death, could kill that easily. 

She killed like an apex predator. Like a creature that knew nobody could challenge her.

She didn’t notice him at first. Hal wasn’t surprised– he was easily overlooked. She gave her undivided attention to the dogs. The wolf-dogs flocked around her, all of them with low heads, low tails and soft eyes. They all avoided looking directly at her, but each one nuzzled her legs or licked at her hands. She received all of the canine attention with a soft smile.

Only when she moved to sit closer to the dogs' level did she notice Hal. For a moment, she just stared at him. With her intense eyes examining him, Hal forgot how to breathe. Then in a moment she was standing in front of him, holding out a handkerchief. From here he could get a good look at her striking eyes. They were clear as the sky.

“Here. Clean your glasses.” Her voice was rich, dark, and coated with a thick accent. Whatever spell she cast, he fell under the moment she spoke. Hal hoped she’d never lift it.

* * *

Solid Snake hadn’t been given much when he was sent into Shadow Moses– a pistol, some bullets, the bare minimum of information, a sneaking suit and some shots. However, at the last possible moment, Campbell had given Snake a second box of bullets. He looked this new ammo over with narrowed eyes. Silver jacketed SOCOM rounds. Now _that_ was odd. Snake tried to connect these bullets with the information he’d been given on FOXHOUND– he drew a blank. He looked back to Campbell, a brow arched.

Campbell gave him a tight smile; “Just in case. You’ll know when to use them.”

From the corner of his eye, Snake could see Naomi frowning to herself, eyes hard.

* * *

Snake sighed hard, a cloud of his breath floating away from him like cigarette smoke. Campbell was right– he’d known exactly when to use the silver bullets. But as he replays the moment in his mind…

 _Her her clothes tear, bones snap, creak,_ stretch _– blonde fur explodes from her skin and in seconds the tides of battle have turned. He’s not facing a patient and tense game of chicken in the snow but a full-on assault from a raging beast. He barely knows he’s doing it before the SOCOM is loaded with silver bullets and aimed straight at the massive wolf. There’s only a fraction of a second for Snake to wonder if he should do this, and by then the choice is made for him._

_She leaps and he shoots._

_Fire blossoms from her chest. A sound, so base and universal, so full of agony that it makes Snake drop his gun, tears through the air from the wolf’s maw. She falls out of the air and rolls in the snow, leaving a trail of flaming blood behind her._

_She lies there, flank heaving wildly and whimpering like a pup…_

At the very least, he should have shot her in the head.

The wolf-dogs crept out of the trees– whining, howling, yelping– and settled in a circle around the large golden wolf. Hal flickered in, optic camouflage failing as he stared in mute breathless horror. 

After a moment, Hal could only choke out a, “What…?”

Snake walked forward with deliberate steps, kneeling down and putting a hand on Wolf’s neck; “This is Sniper Wolf, Otacon. This is what she really is.”

Snake’s blue eyes met the wolf’s. In them he saw everything she hid as a human. He saw all the fear, the pain, the sorrow and doubt. And yet, he saw joy as well. Her life wasn’t entirely devoid of light. For a moment, Snake wished she was human so she could tell him what she’d seen, how she’d lived. After all, it was like as not he’d never see a creature like her again.

But that wouldn’t do any good. The human face was the disguise, the mask. All it could give him were lies.

As the fire on her blood flickered out, Hal trudged forward, falling heavily to his knees beside Wolf’s wound. Hesitantly, gingerly, he placed his hands on her flank. She relaxed, and Hal buried his face into the bloody, charred fur. It did nothing to muffle his sobs. Snake rad his hand along her neck, speaking soft nonsense words to soothe her like the dogs he’d had to put down. As he stood, he could see her eyes soften. She was calm now. She was ready.

When he fired the next silver round, the shot was drowned out by the wolf-dogs howling all at once.


End file.
